


An afternoon at the opera

by Hypatia_66



Series: An UNCLE Gazetteer [12]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: ABC Challenge, Community: section7mfu, Gen, Operas, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14946674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ ABC Affair II. Cities A-Z. Prompt L: LewesIllya and Napoleon have tickets for a country house opera performance.





	An afternoon at the opera

Their clothes attracted some attention on the London underground from High Street Kensington to Victoria Station, but very little when they arrived as there was a respectable contingent of similarly attired men, and more-spectacularly dressed women, all heading the same way.

“We could have gone by car,” said Napoleon, whose frilled shirt and somewhat flamboyantly cut tuxedo stood out more than his partner’s more restrained (and cheaper) outfit. Illya was carrying the picnic basket, Napoleon having insisted that, as most of it would go down his throat, he might as well get in practice for the weight.

“Waverly thought the contact would go by train. He’ll be here somewhere,” said Illya.

The froth of chiffon and billowing silk was set off by the dark dress clothes of the men who, in contrast to the women, all looked exactly the same – it wasn’t going to be easy to spot the odd one out.

All the conversation around them on the train was about whether this singer or that would be in good voice, how generous the Glyndebourne rehearsal period was, how they were going to keep the champagne cool for the dinner interval, and the price of smoked salmon. Quite a lot was even about the merits of the Mozart-Da Ponte collaboration.

It was the first night of _Don Giovanni_ ; Illya had acquired a programme in advance and was reading it when a late-comer, who had flung himself onto the train just as it was leaving, sat down with a sigh opposite him. Observing the object of Illya’s attention, he sat up.

“I say,” he said, “could I have a quick look at your programme?”

Slightly surprised, Illya handed it to him and watched him feverishly flicking through the pages as if looking for something. The newcomer was indefinably incomplete, as if he had dressed in a rush and had missed something. Napoleon who had been watching the countryside flash past, looked round and spotted the infelicity immediately. It was the shirt – not a dress shirt but possibly the shirt he had worn to work that day, and the bow tie, correctly tied, was crooked. He glanced at Illya who was watching the man’s hands rather than criticising his clothes.

A little flushed, the man thanked him and handed the programme back. Illya placed it on the table between them and laid his hand on it casually as he looked out of the window.

When the train stopped at Lewes, everyone in evening clothes got out and headed for the Glyndebourne bus waiting for them. Illya and Napoleon were last off because Illya dropped the programme and had to retrieve it from under the table. They had to run for the bus; the man who had joined them on the train seemed to have missed it.

“Was that manoeuvre of yours clumsy or deliberate?” asked Napoleon sotto voce.

“Tell you later,” Illya replied.

The short journey from Lewes accomplished, the company quickly dispersed into the gardens to find prime spots for their dinner interval picnic. Earlier (classier) arrivals had already put up tables, umbrellas, tablecloths, crystal and even silverware and candelabras. Illya put the programme into their picnic basket and now carried it to find a quiet spot beside the lake in which to leave it, Napoleon following behind him on the path.

Illya sat down and to Napoleon’s surprise, took out his pocketbook rather than the programme. “Here,” he said and handed him a card. Napoleon’s eyes widened. “What’s this? … Nil carborundum illegitimi…?”

“It was placed in my programme. Look at the four i’s.”

“The microdots… that was neat work. We needn’t go to the opera now.”

Illya glared at him. “I’ve _always_ wanted to come here so I’m not leaving now. Anyway, you should see this opera. It offers an awful warning not to continue your libertine ways.”

“I know, I’ve seen it before.”

“And you still haven’t learned? Oh, Napoleon – the fate that awaits you!”

**ooo0000ooo**

**Author's Note:**

> Lewes is the county town of East Sussex, about seven miles from Brighton. It is pronounced Lewis. 
> 
> Glyndebourne is an English country house in the Sussex Downs near Lewes, with large gardens and its own opera house, where an opera season has been held since 1934. It provides an excuse to dress up and have a picnic as well. The name is pronounced with a long i, as in glide. And… David McCallum was assistant stage manager there in 1951 before he was called up for National Service.
> 
> Don Giovanni is one of the three operas composed by Mozart with a libretto by Lorenzo da Ponte. The Don is dragged down to hell at the end – though for sacrilege more than libertinism.
> 
> Nil carborundum illegitimi – a mock-Latin expression dating from World War II and intended to mean “don’t let the bastards grind you down.”


End file.
